


First of the Year Nightmares

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, High School, Ivan Braginski is a bastard, M/M, Permanently Unfinished, Underage - Freeform, Unhealthy Relationships, Written when I was in HS 7 years ago but Im throwing it up here cuz yanno its a relic, slurs used
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: WARNING: Wrote this 7 years ago. I was 15 and in high school. Don't support some of what I wrote (mostly with Lovino/Antonio plot) and Ivan being mean. Also, unrealistic....Three different love stories told at once as they interact and their varying accounts and points of views.-Alfred's internalized homophobia from his parents divorcing and his dad getting with his boyfriend and his struggle with the new transfer that hates him.-Lovino having an inappropriate crush on a student teacher and his struggle to be the watchful older brother.-Ludwig dreading every day since that he's come from Germany to America to live with his chaotic older brother.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

_ Dear Journal, _

_ Father has passed away just as mother did when I was young. His funeral was sparse and not many came, but the event still stretched for eternity. Father left many of his prized possessions to me and I am deeply honored to accept them. He left a few items for my older brother, but they will be shipped to America. I am soon to be moving in with my older brother I have not seen since I was young. I have heard he shares his living space with his two-college friends and my bed will likely be the futon unless they make accommodations. I am not overly joyed to have to leave my home, but sometimes life requires me to do so. Moving will be like adjusting to an injury and the sooner I come to terms, the sooner I will be able to be cured. Something tells me, America will be like a cyst in the arse; adjusting will not be easy nor painless. _

_ Sincerely, Ludwig. _

My neck was cramped from the many hours of leaning it against the seat, stress hounding my thoughts about what could be lying in wait for me in the Land of Dreams. The business men and returning tourists bustled past me as I pulled my carry on from the over-head slot, and slid the journal into the front pocket of the bag. Many push and shove or rudely bump into me as I finally make it out of the crowded area and into lines for security. 

It was rather exhausting getting through customs. One of the guards didn’t like that I was nearly taller than he and kept a close eye as I went through the security terminals. His scrutiny vanished when nothing on me was deemed a threat and a new, sketchier individual hobbled through the scanner. The lady at customs rifled carelessly through my papers, asked a few standard questions and sent me along with a wave. It was a cold wave of relief when I exited customs and security. Finding my bag in that utter mess that was their conveyor belt system was tiring, but still I made it through. I have yet to see my brother, but I suppose he could be lingering in any one of these small fast-food places or maybe even the small souvenir shop; he said he would be waiting for me in the main lobby, but I think he grievously underestimated the size of the place. 

After a few moments of searching, I resigned with a sigh and set my carry-on and luggage on a bench and sat with my meager belongings I had brought. Mostly, with what I had been left, I brought along important family heirlooms I could not part with and money that my father had left for new clothes and amenities. With careful budgeting it could last for a few months. A job would be necessary, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find one.

I cast my eyes out to the crowds milling past, a brilliant blur of faces and many colors of shirts and skin colors. A few glances towards me, a few hopeful figures, but none came my way. I don’t even remember what my brother looks like, come to think of it. He left home long ago. Loud music blasted from a phone. Who even leaves their ringer on that loudly in public anyway? With a sigh, I rested my head in my hands. Oh this was hopeless. 

“Yo, Antonio!” called an overly loud voice, “I got a text from little Luddy, he’s wondering where I am.”

I slid my hands from my face and turned around to look at the owner of the voice. Could it be? No, tell me that isn’t  _ my _ brother. An albino man showed his phone to his Spanish friend and both of them laughed, remarking over how “Luddy” sounded like a total pansy.

If I ignore them, I thought to myself, maybe he won’t be my brother.

“Wait, I think I see him! Hey Luddy! Aw, he looks like he did when I used to give him baths.”

Closing my eyes, I started counting to ten. When I reached the magic number I opened my eyes to see the albino grinning from ear to ear with two guys flanking him.

“Long time no see, how’ve you been?” He glanced at the heirloom I had brought with me, the special family artifact father passed down to me with great importance. “Oh and dad gave you his necklace, that’s cool.”

I’ll be counting to ten a lot, apparently, in America. Perhaps I should make it twenty.

“I’ve been...well,” I muttered and my brother punched me in the shoulder hardily. 

“Ah, don’t be so hostile. Well, Luddy, I’m your awesome brother Gilbert, not like you’ve forgotten your awesome brother’s name,” I had, “and these are my two friends Francis and Antonio.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said and held out my hand.

They stared at it like it was foreign, three sets of eyes gazing in wonder at my hand and Gilbert let out a hearty chuckle and pulled me into a hug. 

“Aw, we’re family bro, no handshakes; we hug,” he said.

I didn’t agree, but didn’t fight his hug and obligatory wrapped my arms around him stiffly. After a moment, Gilbert pulled away and ruffled my hair. Annoyed, I smoothed it back over immediately. I had just fixed it from the long flight.

“Come on, Luddy, let’s go get your room set up. Don’t forget to get-to-know Antonio and Francis. We’re all gonna be living under the same roof, so no fighting. Wait-” Gilbert broke off as he saw Francis getting some girl’s number, “Way to go Francis! Up top!” 

I would like to request a plane ticket back to Germany, I think I could live fairly well on my own. 

“You’ll get used to it, mi amigo. We’re not bad guys,” the Spaniard, Antonio said, clapping me on the back.

Just then a security-guard turned to Gilbert, “Wait, I know you, you’re that punk that was messing around on the conveyer belt!”

“Yo, Luddy, Toni, hurry up. We’ve got to split.”

…

_ Dear Diary, _

_ I hate having gay-parents, because no one thinks you’re any different. Even though Arthur broke up with his boyfriend some time after adopting us due to cheating issues, it was constantly thrown at us that he was gay. We didn’t even live with him till we were ten and he was just some twenty-four year old who wanted kids. We’ve only been here like 6 years! Oh sure, Matty loves it, Matty’s the adorable twin brother who has already decided he doesn’t like girls and has friends and everyone loves. I’m just an idiot compared to him who maybe wants to be straight, goes to parties and has been in bed with a few (2) chicks. Even then, every day it’s, “Hey Al-faggot, wanna suck my dick, I won’t charge you,” or “Sorry, I don’t date people with queers for parents,” or best of all, “I would tell you to burn in hell, but God already plans to do that to you and your gay family.” _

_ FOR THE LAST TIME! I, ALFRED F JONES, MAKE IT CLEAR, THAT I AM NOT GAY. _

…

“Alfred, where were you last night?” Doesn’t even give me a fricking hello, just asks me what was I doing, who was I with. Who cares it’s like midnight or later?

“None of your business, faggot,” I mutter and turn away just for  _ Arthur _ to start yelling.

“Alfred Frederick Jones, you come down stairs and tell me this instance where you were. I have been worried sick-”

“I said it was none of your business,” I shot back, fumbling to get to my room. God, my head hurt. This was going to be one killer hangover. 

“If you don’t come down here this instant, I’m taking away the your privileges to your bank account and phone.”

I wheeled around, how dare he. Seething in anger, I stormed down a few steps to glare at him. 

“First of all,” I said, “That’s my money in the bank-account, you freaking fag-commie, and second is fuck you.”

“Alfred, have you been drinking?”

“Maybe, maybe I have, maybe I haven’t,” I said, trying to steady my vision on those damn caterpillar eyebrows.

Arthur sighed, like he always did. I knew what was next, he was gonna cry, like a little bitch. Francis was going to comfort him (his new twenty-seven year old boyfriend) and they were going to complain about Arthur’s trouble-maker son and how he didn’t respect them and how they tried to give him their very best. I didn’t care, I don’t feel guilty.

…

  
Alright, I do, heroes feel guilt when they hurt others, but I can’t deal with Arthur and Francis. I can’t call them “Dad” or “Papa” like Matt does. It’s all wrong, just so...wrong. Maybe it’s my fault, what if I am gay, what if I’m just like them. 

No, I can’t be. The hero always get’s the girl, the hero is macho, the hero comes from a troubled life.

Yeah, I’m the hero.

Groaning, I turn around and stomp up the stairs ignoring the sound of Arthur’s sniffling. Cry about it, sob and break your little heart, you sinner. I’m doing what’s right, I’m making sure I’m straight and I maybe one day I’ll get Matty to go to church with me. Then I won’t be the only one facing this problem alone.

_ … _

_ (Point of View--Change) _

_ Anti-Swearing Notebook _

_ Fratello says I need to cut down on swearing, and this dam- I mean, dang electronic notebook is supposed to censor any ******* ****word I say. The ******* summer is about to end and I’m about to start my last year of ******* high school. Thank ***. How is *** even a **** word? Like what the ****. **** you, you **** ******** notebook. My stupid fratello says that I should try dating guys since I’ve had so much “luck,” with dating girls. What the **** does he know? He just flirts with girls and the occasional guy and is two years younger than me. Sides, why would I wanna date a ******* guy? Like who would be the ***** and who would be the ******. _

_ **** you, Lovino. _

…

“Aw, but fratello, why not?”

I shoved the picture of the “cute” guy away and almost shoved the little brat pestering me off my bed as well. Lovino Vargas did not need help finding himself a date, no, thank you very much.

“Fratello,” Feliciano whined, tugging on my arm, “I’m worried about you. You hardly ever get out and you haven’t gotten a job like Nonno wanted you to.”

That was true, I don’t think I had left my room since the last time I was dragged out by Feliciano for “fun,” which entailed me coming home with sunburns and a million ticks lodged on my person. Lakes were not fun.

“Go back to your pasta, I’m busy,” I muttered, flipping on the television. Propping up my feet, I leaned back against the headboard and sighed in content. 

“Lovi,” Feliciano begged in that annoying voice of his, “It’s your Junior year, do something for once.”

That was a low blow. I looked at him, his brown orbs filled with too much desperation and his lips stuck in a pout, “I will do something,” I said, “something like shoving you in the pool your first day.”

“Fratello, you’re mean!” Feliciano squeaked, elbowing me and running off. 

Good riddance. I picked up the controller to the Playstation and switched on some mafia game. Really, I lost track of what gang-violence related game I was playing this time. Summer was going to end too fast and then it would be back to classes I wasn’t even interested in.

…

  
  


_ Dear Journal, _

_ Today is the first day of school, but as I am a transfer I may be lumped into the Freshman orientation. I do not feel any pleasure in attending with many younger students crowded around me. I am entering my last year of school and I will either go back to Germany for my university years or I will hopefully get a scholarship for here in the States. The school looks nice from the outside, but as Gilbert drops me off in his “Van of Awesomeness” I feel oddly like this is going to be a very, very bad day. _

_ Sincerely, Ludwig. _

I hadn’t taken anything with me my first day other than a pencil, my phone and an agenda in case we were assigned anything. As I approached the school, my eyes scanned the young faces looking happily up at the building or nervously sticking close to old friends.

“Welcome new students, take a pamphlet and check out the amazing clubs we offer,” a rather bored looking student said, unenthusiastically.

Uneasily, I grabbed a pamphlet and the boy passing them out gave me an odd look.

“You’re a really big Freshman,” the boy said, running a hand through his messy blonde hair, “or are you a transfer? Or are you lost, because usually only new kids come in this door.”

“Yes, I transferred from Germany,” I said and he gave a low whistle. 

“Man, that sucks; is this your last year?” I nodded, “Oh man, that sucks so bad. Well, good luck,” he said and gave a pamphlet to a Freshman squeezing past me.

I took that as my cue to leave. The entrance to the school was decorated with motivational posters and posters encouraging school pride. A pang of homesickness struck me and I missed the private school I used to go to where everything was much more uniform and structured. Schedules were sent in the mail, and no tours or new student procedures were needed. New students were lead around by an older student to classes, since most of them shared the same classes. Older students could report straight to their classes or perhaps stop to convene with friends in the hallway. Here, there were signs.

Signs, everywhere. Some about the school sports. Others about important first of the year reminders. Neon signs, seemingly stuck at random, said to head to Gym 1 if you were a Freshman to collect your schedule, but nothing about Transfers. A large white sign said “Attention, returning Sophomores head in through the west door, Juniors and Seniors enter through the south.” A white-board arrow shaped sign pointed towards the direction of the main office and said “For Sophomore, Junior or Senior Transfers.”

Grimacing, I followed the direction of the sign. Relax, this can’t be too bad. Of course this school lacks the same structure. It’s from a different country and it’s a public school. At least they didn’t group me with the Freshman. Preparing myself for the worst, I pushed open the door to the office. A much more dandy place that wasn’t painted in the colors of blue and white that I assumed were the school colors. Instead, soft cream walls, with a dark border twisted around to lead to more offices. Dark wood desks with bright-computers glimmering from atop them stood against the corners. Many stacks of papers were on the  _ Student Information _ desk as labeled by a sign. I caught a glimpse of a Physical form for sports. Maybe, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to join a sport. A secretary noticed my arrival and looked up from her desk. She smiled warmly at me. 

“Hello, are you one of the transfers?” She asked, setting aside her coffee.

I nodded.

“Have a seat, we’ll be getting you your schedule and a quick tour of the school before you head off to classes. We have two other transfers this year, so don’t feel too oscillated.”

It felt a little like home, a simple procedure and I’d be straight to classes. I had been worried it’d be much worse. I took a seat on the moderately comfy brown chair and crossed my legs.

“What is your name, young man?” the secretary asked, pulling out a small box with three folders in it. 

“Ludwig Beilschmidt,” I answered.

The secretary thumbed through the schedules and pulled out mine. With a smile she walked around her desk and handed me it. I took it and carefully examined it. Most of the classes were the ones I was going to take anyway, but a few of his electives were most certainly not in my favor.

“A-art?” I questioned.

The secretary just gave him a small, sad smile. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. We checked your transcript, but a lot of the classes you take  _ over there _ we don’t offer here,” she explained as she seated herself at her desk again. 

“Oh, alright.”

That put a damper on my hopeful mood. I had Art and Cooking 101, both of which were not my forte. I could bake semi-well, but anything else was a mystery. Baking was precise, accurate, with complete directions. Cooking was vague and had a guess and check method for solving the problem. Besides those two, I had Conditioning. I had never signed up for it, but according to the class description, it was doable. An advanced workout class if any. The other five slots were all standard classes and homeroom.

I heard the door swing open and close loudly with a slam. 

“Are you a transfer?” the secretary asked to someone and I stared at the person that had entered the office. 

It was a rather tall man that looked around uncertainly at everything. He wore a long coat that fluttered around his legs like a dress and a scarf that drifted behind him like a stray spirit. His eyes were a dark violet, that sent chills down my spine. Ignoring him, I looked down at my papers again, wondering where my locker would be at. My last school did not have lockers, but I suppose if this one did it would be convenient for keeping any textbooks or folders for classes. 

“Da, I am Ivan Braginski,” the tall man said and I glanced back up at him and the secretary.

The secretary seemed to have paled and she smiled uneasily at Ivan. She thrust his schedule over the desk at him. 

“Oh, here’s your schedule,” she retracted her hand very quickly once he took it. “You will have to visit the counselor before leaving today, I trust you know why?”

“Da, what happened at my other schools, I know,” Ivan said with a grin.

I eyed the boy for a moment and shook my head. A trouble-maker if I ever did see one. My eyes returned to my schedule in which I folded with a sigh. 

“Well, have a seat, Ivan. We’re still waiting on one person, try to make friends, alright?” The secretary urged and Ivan shot her a childish smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

Ivan sat in the seat next to me, uncomfortably close. He grasped his pack with both hands, fists clenching around the straps. He smiled at me and I ignored him as best as I could. The man emitted waves of malicious intent and I couldn’t help, but wonder if a public school was the best place for a person like him.

“Do you want to be my friend?” he questioned, his eyes boring into my skull.

“No, thank you,” I said hastily and grabbed a magazine off the side table. Despite having no interest in reading it, I opened it anyway and scanned the pages, hoping Ivan would get the message. He did, but still he sat there smiling at nothing. 

It was an awkward fifteen minutes in which the bell rung and the secretary looked anxiously at her watch. The blonde boy that had been handing out pamphlets opened the door and peeked in.

“Hey, Michelle, all the transfers here for the tour?” he asked.

The secretary shook her head, “No, Alfred, go on to band, I’ll send a pass down for you when the other one comes in.”

The blonde boy, Alfred looked down the long hallway and shook his head, “Nah, that’ll take too long. By the time I walk down to band he’ll be here.” The boy plopped down on of the seats and stared at Ivan and myself openly.

“I saw you both earlier. What’s your names?” Alfred asked, his blue eyes studying us with reserved interest.

Ivan didn’t look inclined to speak so I went first.

“My name is Ludwig, pleased to meet you,” I said. I wasn’t really that pleased to meet him and there was a good chance I wouldn’t see him today after this. 

“Ah, cool,” Alfred looked at Ivan who was ignoring everyone in the room, “How about you scarf-y?” 

Ivan slowly turned his head to look at Alfred, his smile falling for a second to be replaced by an expression of confusion.

“Scarf-y?” he questioned.

“Well duh, you’re wearing a scarf in warm weather, it’s sorta weird,” Alfred said, missing the secretary’s frantic hand motions for him to stop.

It looked as Ivan was considering murder, but instead he chuckled. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“I am Ivan, I am from Russia formerly if you are wondering. I am used to cool temperatures, but heat does not affect me,” he said, his voice holding a commanding tone that left a prickling sensation in the air. 

Alfred nodded as if he understood, but by judging by the vacant look in his eyes, he had not. He leaned back in the chair and tapped his fingers against his leg in a constant rhythm. The room went silence once more. The secretary looked tempted to call the resource officer with the increasing menacing vibes coming from Ivan.

“Oh, it looks like he’s here!” the secretary said in relief. 

A very tired looking boy pushed open the door and nodded a greeting to us and the secretary.

“‘m Heracles Karpusi,” he muttered, pushing his hair off of his face, “‘m sorry, I overslept.”

She sympathetically sent him a smile and handed him his papers. Alfred jumped to his feet, the hyperactive blonde seemed all too relieved to get started.

“Okay, people, let’s go tour the school!” he said cheerfully.

He wasn’t the only one relieved to get started. I hoped we could start with classes soon enough. I rose from my seat and followed Alfred, Heracles and Ivan trailing behind. Was I the only one disturbed how Ivan refused to speed up and purposely stayed behind us? His gait remained a constant of slow steps, one after the other at a borderline crawl. 

“Okay,” Alfred said oblivious to my worries, “This is the main hall, language and art classes are in it. Over down there next to the doors is the cooking classes and speech classes,” he said as he walked before turning into a large opening. He stopped us from walking in and just gestured to the double doors and ramp, “The auditorium is past this door and underneath it are the theater classrooms which I quite frankly have no idea how to get to. Do any of you have theater?”

Heracles nodded, causing Alfred to frown. The blonde rubbed the back of his neck and then shrugged. He flashed a reassuring smile at Heracles. 

“Well, maybe someone in your first hour will know,” Alfred suggested. 

“Theater is my first hour,” Heracles replied monotonously. The blonde’s smile fell away and he kicked the ground with his foot.

“Oh, well, um, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Alfred waved aside the problem. He was not the most competent tour guide. Maybe he was the only one that volunteered.

He strode past me, Ivan, and Heracles and started walking down another hall. His slight dip in mood was easy to identify.

“This is the computer-tech hall. Basically all of our classes dealing with technology are down here. Shop is at the far end next to the doors.” He gestured unhelpfully down a hall.

It was very good to know all this, but Alfred seemed to be rushing most of the halls. I suppose I would learn the exact lay-out on my own and the sooner we got to classes, the better. 

He strode past us once again and Ivan silently stuck his foot out, causing Alfred to trip and fall. The moment Alfred stood up, Ivan slid his foot back in and put on one of his childish smiles.

“Alright, which one of you just tripped me. I’m not an underclassmen you know. I’m a Junior; you can’t pick on me,” he said.

Ivan kept smiling and Hercules seemed to be utterly distracted. As much as I’d like to pick a fight with the Russian, I would rather not lose my life. I chose not say it had been him. Alfred huffed and crossed his arms. 

“Fine, be that way, let’s go to my favorite hall of all time, the music hall!” he said and with a bit of a more bounce in his step as he lead us down a hall with one door on the left and a couple on the right.

“That room is Band, which I’m only pointing out, because it’s the most awesome room ever and I’m in it,” Alfred said. “Are any of you in band?”

Heracles nodded, “I am.”

“Damn,” Alfred whistled, “You do art too?”

Again, Heracles nodded. He may have been sleep walking.

“You’re a real art prodigy dude, hats off to you,” Alfred said. His lips quirked as he gestured to the other doors in the hall.

“And the two rooms on the right are just for choir and orchestra, which aren’t cool at all.”

“I play cello,” Ivan said, his voice seemingly neutral, but his eyes boring into Alfred’s skull anything but.

“Uh, yeah, that’s cool, I guess, but Orchestra usually just helps theater unlike the Band who helps everyone,” Alfred said, turning back to the main hall and missing Ivan’s intense hostility. I was tempted to discreetly motion to Alfred to be careful, but the man wouldn’t understand anything short of blatant.

“So, let’s go up the stairs, if you please. We’ll get to the gyms and science hall last, by the way. They’re on ground floor, but I’m just trying to do things in a smooth circle.”

It was reasonable enough, but I was wondering if I was going to hear about Alfred mysteriously dying in the next couple of days with the way Ivan was imagining 99 ways to kill the blonde beside me. It was just lucky of me, I didn’t get on the psychopath’s badside. Or if I had, the peppy boy in front of me had drawn all the attention to himself.

As we made it upstairs, we came across a Freshman touring group (which moved more slowly, because of all the activities and explanations). For some reason, I could sense the chaos before it even hit the air as we made to move past them.

…

_ Dear Diary, _

_ Today is the first freaking day of school. I got signed up, without my permission, by Mattie to do some first-day-of-school help work. He knows I’m in Drum Line and we play for the beginning of school pep assembly, and I was hoping to attend first hour of band to make sure I was good to go with all the cadences. But nooooo, everything the Golden Boy says is law. So, apparently I’ll be showing the transfers around the school, that’s not too hard, I mean, there’s hardly any of them. Plus, any other work they give to me. Everything is cool as long as I don’t miss the pep assembly, after all, I’m the leader of the Drum Line this year. _

“Enjoy your day here,” I said as another eager-beaver Freshman walked by, eagerly chatting to some quiet kid. The kid looked sorta like Grumpy-Ino, or rather Lovino, who was in my classes. I don’t think I’d ever heard Lovino ever talk about having a brother, I’d have to ask him next time he was in a good mood.

I stared at the passing cars and noticed a weird looking kid walking my way. By the look of it, he’d walked here. Hm, must be one of those “fresh air is great kids” or the kind with lazy/busy parents. I sometimes rode my bike when I was too mad at Mattie to ride with him. He sized the school up and I watched him with honest curiosity.

His violet eyes shot my way. I smiled, hoping I wasn’t scaring the guy, he looked new. I knew most of the Seniors--since they ridiculed my daily--so I knew he couldn’t already have gone here.

“Hiya pal, are you a transfer?” I asked as he approached me.

The guy didn’t seem to hear me and didn’t take a pamphlet, he just bumped into my arm holding the pamphlets. It was probably an accident, I mean, most people that just meet me don’t hate me. It’s when they hear about my gay parents that they hate me. I sighed and bent down and scooped up the papers.

I continued greeting students and handing them pamphlets till the first bell rang. Relieved from my door-holding and pamphlet-giving duties I entered the school and headed to the main office.

Michelle Sey, the secretary looked up as I entered and I flashed a smile. Her and the counselor, Ms. Hedervary were the only understanding ones out of the adults. The rest of them just told me to suck it up and accept that not everyone will like you.

As I greeted her, my eyes turned to the two new students. So that one dude and shove-happy were the only transfers so far. Cool, so I hadn’t missed any of them. Michelle says there’s only one more, so that means my job will be easy. Lead these three around and then head off to band.

That Heracles kid I swear was drunk, did Michelle not smell the wine coming off of him or is that just his cologne. No matter, as long as he wasn’t bugging me I wouldn’t mind. Ivan, was it, seems a little shy or something. Maybe, like Ludwig, he hasn’t been in the USA very long. I’m sure once he gets used to the US he’ll brighten up.

I was sort of rushing the tour, but I don’t think any of them minded. I had judged that Ludwig and Ivan were Seniors and that Heracles was a Sophomore. Ugh, they didn’t get the bad-year of being a Junior. I swear, that’s the worst.

As I went down the technology hall, I wondered if Yao’s cousin Kiku was going to start today. Didn’t he say that kid was about the age of a Freshman now. If Kiku was starting today I would have to run into him and see how he was liking it. I heard he was a gaming master.

As I turned on foot, I felt something come in contact with my shin and I crashed into the ground, hands catching me before my face got pulverized. My glasses fell of my nose, but luckily they didn’t crack or anything. I slid them back on as I stood. Brushing it off, I turned around and faced the three transfers.

Okay, it definitely wasn’t that Sophomore kid, he was barely even paying attention to me. He probably couldn’t stick his foot out anyway, unless he wanted to collapse from his drunkenness. I saw that Ludwig’s eyes flit to Ivan then to the ground so I turned my last gaze to Ivan who just kept smiling.

Maybe Ivan already found out about my parents and was going to pick on me the whole tour, because of it. Fine, be that way, jerk. I turned on heel and faced the best of the best.

Ah, sweet relief, the sound of band filtered out from beneath the door and I grinned. This was my happy place. I introduced the place’s accordingly.

Geesh, I’ve decided Heracles is probably gonna be the next big artist or something. Of what, I don’t know. If he stayed sober enough to learn anything.

On the other side was Orchestra, of course. They hated us, because Band got like 2/3rds of the music funding, Choir got 3/10ths and they got like 1/25th of the fund. That, and they could always hear our music no matter how loud they played. Classic Orchestra.

So, Ivan played cello. I didn’t have anything against Orchestra, it’s just I never really considered that class all that important or worth taking compared to band. I was starting to feel really bad, maybe Ivan thought I was targeting him and that’s why he tripped me. Maybe calling him pal made him think he was being treated like a dummy and then that comment about his scarf... And now, I just made a rude comment about probably something he loved.

Crap, maybe I was bullying him. Geesh, Alfred, way to screw up again.

This time I made sure at least Heracles was in-between me and Ivan as I made the way up the stairs. I guess I didn’t have to worry, Ivan walked really slow for some reason. Would it hurt his feelings if I said he walks like a serial killer? Ya know, they always walk slow.

Ugh, the Freshmen. I tried to lead the group past them, but of course the dumb Freshmen didn’t move to one side the just ended up crowding the whole hallway unsure of which way to move.

“Move, please, I’d like to conduct a tour,” I shouted.

The little jerks didn’t move and I had to shove my way through. As I was walking I felt a hard push and not an accidental one. I clearly felt both hands on my back before my head connected with the floor. I saw stars, my mind went all hazy and I’m not sure if I was alright.

I felt someone shake my shoulder and then a shout of “get a nurse” before I zoned out. Ah damn, I think my glasses broke.

I think I felt someone pick me up. Whoever picked me up seemed to purposely let my head dangle painfully and put strain on my neck. God, my head. Ugh, my glasses fell off my face and landed somewhere out of reach.

The bumbling motion of walking down the stairs made me want to puke. God, were they going to just like take me outside and bury me or something? Nope, I think I’m heading to the nurse’s.

I was practically dropped onto the cot in the nurse’s office. I think my eyes were open, I wasn’t sure anymore. Who the hell kept saying my name, oh god my head hurt. My neck hurt too, it felt like I couldn’t do anything.

Finally, my mind gave up and the last coherent thing I heard was “Call an ambulance, he has a concussion.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Anti-Swearing Notebook _

_ First ******* day of school. I am ready to kick some ********’ ******. This ******** notebook is going to get on my nerves. How is *** even a swear word. Is ****** a swear word? How about ****? Is fag a swear word. Ha! You don’t know all of them. Suck a **** you **** book. You little ***. What? It wasn’t a swear word the first ******** time I said it. **** you notebook.  _

_ ******* STOP! Lovino. _

“Fratello, wake-up, wake-up! It’s time for school. Nonno says you have to drive me there,” I was awoken from my nice dream of tomatoes and peace by a fourteen year-old acting like a toddler. He bounced on my bed, giddily poking my stomach repeatedly.

I pushed him off my bed with my foot and stuffed my head in the pillows. What time was it anyway? I checked my phone. It was freaking five in the morning.

“Com’on Lovi, I want to get there early!”

I hugged the pillow to my face, school didn’t start till seven-thirty. I buried myself under the covers in a vain attempt to get away from my brother.

He yanked my covers onto the floor.

Son of a bitch, I’m going to have to remake my bed completely now you little shit. He knew I was mad too and ran from the room before I could get up. Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and prepared for the hell known as school.

\---

The trip to school was full of Feliciano talking boisterously about what he hoped would happen, clutching his over-stuffed backpack with an overly enthusiastic expression. He bounced in his seat discussing art and that stupid cooking class he didn’t need and how he was going to make lots of friends.

I dropped him off at the Freshman entrance and drove around to the back parking lot and went in through the Upperclassmen doors. 

I walked in the first classroom labeled “Junior’s Schedules” and snatched mine up, hopefully before I could run into-

“Lovino! Hey, how have you been?” came a Senior’s voice, tauntingly from behind me. 

Sadiq…

He was one year above my class and this guy either had a crush on me or wanted me to commit suicide from how annoying he was. Without acknowledging him, I dove from the room and I heard him following behind me. 

I checked my fist hour, Spanish 3, and darted past the crowd to that room. I didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Quickly, I slid to the side and hoped Sadiq didn’t notice where I was. To my relief, he passed by the room, shouting “Loooooovino,” tauntingly as he scanned the halls for me. 

“Hola?” a voice said behind me and I spun around and gave a manly yelp.

A Spaniard, definitely not the teacher I remember, stared at me with bemusement. He looked really young, what the hell was he doing at a high-school.

“Who the hell are you?” I snapped surprised.

“I’m the new student teacher, Antonio!” he smiled and then coughed, “I mean Mr. Carriedo.”

Raising an eyebrow I looked him up and down, “What are you, like twenty?”

“Yes, actually,” Antonio said. Hell if I was calling him Mr. Carriedo; I still couldn’t roll my ‘r’s.

I slunk away from the door and sat down in one of the seats at the table and noticed Antonio looking at me. There was still thirty minutes to the bell, but it wasn’t safe to go out in the halls with Sadiq lurking. Unless I was able to hide somewhere else. 

“What?” I finally questioned the aid as he stared at me. He seemed to remember something and hummed happily.

“There’s a seating chart, would you like to tell me your name?” Antonio asked. 

I decided I didn’t like his freaking green eyes, they were annoying as shit. His hair was annoying. The whole goddamn combination was annoying. 

“Lovino Vargas,” I spat, and pulled out my phone. It was dead, I hadn’t plugged it in last night. Well shit, I could at least pretend I was doing something. 

“Lovino…” His finger trailed down a clipboard, “Que? Oh how funny, you’re sitting in your actual spot!”

“Yeah, funny,” I didn’t even want to look at that weird bastard with his sparkly-eyes. Sparkly like water or knives or something that’s beautiful, but not on him. I wish he was drowning in sparkling water or had knives in those sparkling eyes. Dumbass. 

“Aw, cheer up! There’s so much to smile about,” Antonio said with as much cheer as my brother had greeted me this morning with. Maybe even more. I did not need another version of my brother.

“Screw off,” I muttered. It wasn’t  _ that _ loud. His smile dipped into a frown.

“I could write you a detention if you would like?” He said, his voice threatening. It had taken on one of authority. I should shut up, but god, I couldn’t stop the words from spilling from my mouth. 

“Go ahead,” I said, meeting his eyes. What was I playing at? Hell if I wanted to spend my afternoon with him. I had more important matters, like totally challenging some noobs on multiplayer and making the internet slower for my brother when he got home. 

Suddenly a pink detention-slip slid onto my desk and I stared at it with contempt. Me and my big fat mouth. No wonder Feliciano got me an anti-swear journal.

“Hasta luego,” Antonio said and he settled at the little desk in the corner that the Spanish teacher hardly used.

“Bastard,” I muttered. A thirty minute detention for being “Disrespectful to Staff.” It’s his fault, his eyes were annoying the crap out of me.

…

_ Dear Journal, _

_ The first day of school was so far my worst day in the US so far. I will recap it in a sentence. Tour-Guide takes a “mysterious” tumble and ends up with a concussion, my cooking partner sets my jacket on fire and then manages to break a pen and get ink down the front of my cargos. I have decided Art and Cooking 101 have one problem, Feliciano Vargas. _

_ Earlier… _

One moment I was following behind Alfred, the next Ivan was beside me as well as the crowd of Freshmen and the next Alfred was on the ground with Ivan, Heracles and me standing in the now emptier space. Ivan’s hands were in his pockets and he nonchalantly leaned back.

Even thought I didn’t see it, I had a strong feeling who just shoved Alfred... was Ivan.

Alfred gave a soft-moan of pain on the ground and tried to get up only for his arms to give up. Unlike last time, his hands hadn’t gotten free fast enough for him to catch himself.

“Move aside,” the teacher that had been talking to the group of Freshmen ordered. He tried getting Alfred to stand up, but the boy just groaned again.

“Help me lift him up so we can take him to the nurse’s,” he ordered Ivan who was standing closest.

Ivan raised an eyebrow then smiled.

“Of course,” and he scooped Alfred up and carried him like a ragdoll.

I wasn’t going to comment on the fact that Ivan looked like he would be happy to throw Alfred down the stairs rather than carry him, but Heracles and I followed Ivan and the teacher unsure of what else to do.

At the nurse’s office, the nurse quickly asked us what had happened. Ivan, who lowered Alfred onto the cot, beat us to the answer, he said Alfred had tripped due to a Freshmen and had bashed his head on the ground.

I was pretty sure that wasn’t what happened, but I had no reason to make enemies.

The nurse grabbed a flashlight and shined it in Alfred’s eyes, they didn’t react. She tried calling his name, but he didn’t respond.

Did Ivan just murder Alfred? Dear Gott, that boy was a psychopath.

“Call an ambulance,” she said to the teacher, “he’s got a concussion.”

The teacher nodded and quickly pulled out his cellphone from his pocket as the nurse used her office phone to dial Alfred’s parents.

The whole time I stood there, hands resting neatly at my side as I watched Ivan with a wary smile. He was still smiling, just as he had when he walked into the office, and just as he still was. I decided his smile was downright creepy.

The teacher finished his call and turned to the three of us.

“I know Alfred was your tour-guide for today,” Mr. Zwingli (according to his badge) said,”But with his injury and no one on quick standby I’m going to have to direct you boys to your now”--he glanced at his watch--”Second hour.”

“I have Calculus,” Ivan said pleasantly and I checked my own schedule.

“I have Cooking 101,” I said.

“English 2,” Heracles said.

“Any chance he showed you where any of those halls were?”

I nodded, but the other two shook their head.

“Well,” the bell rung over head, “I’m sure you can find the class if you know what hall it is,” he said quickly to me. “And you two follow me, your halls are near each other.”

As they executed I quickly hurried in the direction of the cooking classrooms Alfred had described earlier. I found my classroom near the exit-door and entered it. To my great disappointment there was quite a few underclassmen and scarcely any upperclassmen.

To my greater disappointment, there was a seating chart that put me with underclassmen. I took a seat at my table and was instantly greeted by a bubbly Freshman.

“I’m Feliciano Vargas and you are?” He said cheerfully, his eyes briefly scanning my pendant which I had mostly tucked into my jacket and the jacket itself. 

“Ludwig,” I said gruffly, eyes trained on the front, hoping the teacher would be coming in soon.

“Nice to meet you,” he was silent for a pure bliss second before he started chattering again. “Do you like cooking, I love cooking? I love pasta, I hope we get to cook some pasta in class.”

I just nodded, hoping he would take my silent cues to shut up. The classroom was a little stuffy, I shed my jacket. That made him start talking again as he tilted his head examining my arms. 

“Wow, you look like you work out a lot? Do you work out to avoid getting fat from cooking? I do that, I like to run.”

Giving up, I turned to him, “No, I do not like cooking. I do work out.” 

He paused for a second, wrapping his head around this information. It may have been a terribly difficult task.

“I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun, Luddy!”

Drat, not that nickname again. I finally just got Gilbert to use my given name. Maybe if I just smiled and nodded the Italian would leave me alone. I turned my attention to the front as the bell rung. The teacher had said the first class would be started with stove safety and cleaning procedures. 

Her droning voice went on and on about things most everyone knows and I absently started spinning my pencil in my hand, bored. My eyes wondered about the room and hesitantly drifted to the boy beside me. Feliciano was staring off into space, a soft smile on his face. Frowning, I looked away from the day-dreaming boy. 

Yet, I felt almost drawn to look at him, and I spared a quick glance over to him. He was still staring off, his pencil pushed up to his mouth in thought. He actually didn’t seem half-bad when he wasn’t speaking. I looked back at my pencil sitting idly in my hand.

I most certainly did not want to be friends with this eccentric boy, but I suppose if he does have a docile state, it wasn’t going to be unbearable to be near him. The teacher flipped slides and I wistfully looked out the window, perhaps later I could go for a jog. A run did sound nice.

A soft humming caught my ears and I looked at Feliciano. He was drawing something on the back of his schedule, wait, was that me? Why did he draw me? As I watched his face, his eyes slid over and stared into mine.

I wasn’t blushing, it was just hot in here. I ducked my head back down and pretended to be extremely interested in whatever rule the teacher was going over.

I felt him poke my arm and heard him slide the paper over to me.

It was a drawing of me, another kid I did not recognize and Feliciano all standing together and written below it was the word “Friends?” When I dared turn my head to look at him, his wide hopeful eyes were staring up at me, begging me to say yes.

Well, he was sort of nice. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to…

Wait--no. No I was not being friends with this Freshman on account of he’s trying to impress me with a drawing. Especially, since he seems like someone that can’t keep his mouth shut or even take something seriously.

Hastily, I wrote beneath his sloppy handwriting, “No.”

There was a pause and for the rest of the teacher’s opening speech, he looked down at his desk like I had just told him he had cancer. Not like I was watching him, but with an aura of desperation that thick I could feel waves of his sadness hitting me.

Once the teacher finished her opening, she gave us a “Scavenger Hunt.” We were to walk around the classroom and look for the item, labeled with a number, matching descriptions on our paper. What a childish thing to make us do.

Of course, Feliciano loved it. He was bouncing around, trying to talk to other kids. Keyword, trying. Most people brushed him off quickly, muttering that he was an annoying pest. He wasn’t that bad. Not that I wanted to occupy that hole. As he approached me, no doubt asking if we could be partners, I snatched my jacket from my seat and quickly made myself scarce. Even though it was a little hot, I slid my jacket back on.

Here is where everything went wrong.

I suppose it was dumb of me to casually to rest my arm on the burner of the stove as I wrote down the number on the knob next to it’s matching description. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Feliciano approaching, his paper mostly empty of numbers.

Then, he tripped.

His hand shot out wildly, one hitting the counter, the other hitting the knob on the stove. I didn’t notice the latter thing he hit, because I was still staring at the clumsy boy in shock. It was when the girl nearby screamed that I looked down at my arm.

The jacket sleeve was on fire.

I rushed over to the sink and turned on the cold water and wrenched my jacket off precariously. Terrified, I threw it in the cold water. It successfully put out the fire before the fire alarms could be triggered. The teacher rushed over to me, frantically examining my arm, which was miraculously okay. Her gaze hardened and she shut off the burner and turned to Feliciano who was still crouched on the floor.

Immediately, he started sobbing and her glare faltered.

The class ended with me excused from the rest of the “Scavenger Hunt” and the bubbly Freshman given a detention. There was also my poor jacket, now forced to be disposed of in the trash dumpsters like it was nothing of importance. It was a jacket my father had tailored for me, or at least one of the three, but it had been my favorite.

I hurried away from the classroom to avoid the crying Freshman attempting to apologize. 

“Wait!” He cried out loudly, getting a few stares from people in the hallway.

“I’m sorry about your jacket, I didn’t mean to, I just tripped. Luddy-”

That was it.

I wheeled around and jabbed my finger into his chest, “No one calls me that, not you, not anyone,” he whimpered, “and second thing, is stay away from me.”

I left him there, crying in the middle of the hallway and I didn’t know if it was the pain of losing one of my few prized possessions of my father or...guilt for hurting him.

It was the first…

It was the first.

…

_ Anti-Swearing Journal _

_ So **** me for saying this, but the last thing I wanted to deal with when I got out of that ******* Spanish classroom with that jerk ******* was my brother clinging to me, crying. He had gotten a ******** detention. I didn’t see the big deal about it, but that didn’t stop him from bawling his eyes out into my shirt. He had apparently wanted to be friends with this blonde senior that had transferred here and had been rejected. Big ******* deal. Catching some dude’s sleeve on fire isn’t that ******* big of a deal. What was a big deal, was that ******** jerk ******* overheard us and comforted my dumb**** brother. I didn’t want that Spaniard’s hands on my little brother.  _

I was finally able to pry Feliciano off of me as we both went to our third-hours. I knew what was coming. The little beginning of the year pep-rally. It took up all of third-hour and most of fourth hour.

My English class had some transfer student from Russia who was behind in English in it. Just as long he kept his creepy Russian ass away from me and my stuff, I wouldn’t mind him. He kept to himself, seemingly writing in his own little diary. I think it was a diary; it was a small black book. Curious, I glanced at the writing and realized pretty damn quick he was writing in Russian. And at that moment he looked up at me and smiled.

He was a creepy mothertrucker (See Feli, I can avoid using the ‘f’ word). 

After that, I kept my eyes off of him, but I felt his creepy gaze violate my back. 

It wasn’t soon enough when we got let out to that damn pep-rally and he separated off to go sit with the seniors. I settled down among the Juniors and glanced at the Drum Line set up in the middle of the gym floor. Wasn’t Alfred supposed to be their dumb section leader or something?

I spotted his brother, whatshisname, sitting a few people away from me and almost considered asking him what happened to Alfred. However, I didn’t really give enough shits to ask. Alfred was a dumb moron and probably overslept like he always did. We shared English most of the time and he used to doze off in the middle of reading anything. Lazy-fatass, that’s what he was. Although he was good for a video game match and if one wanted to go do something stupid and  _ semi _ -fun like parkour or parties. 

The pep rally kicked off, the usual “Welcome Back” speech. A video full of clips of last years highlights, a little skit done about how awesome our stupid mascot was and announcements of this year’s fall sports. Tcht, like I was doing any of them.

“And this year, we would like to welcome the three transfers from out of the country, and two exchange students. With hope, you find America a worthy home.”

Yeah, I bet all of them will really love it. They’ll love the carbs and the salt  _ so _ much.

“To wrap up the Pep Rally, let’s have some games! We’ll need four from each year, Mr. Carriedo, would you like to pick the Senior and Junior volunteers. Mr. Zwingli will you choose the volunteers for Freshman and Sophomores.”

Crossing my arms, I watched as he picked out some Seniors including, I think, according to my brother’s lame-ass descriptions, that blonde kid he pissed off or something and that Russian. Across the room I saw my brother had been chosen. Oh, this would be funny.

“So, who here wants to play the game?” That stupid bastard  _ Mr. Carriedo  _ asked. I was stuck near the front of the Juniors, but Carriedo was one of those people who probably couldn’t see anything in front of him. 

He chose two girls who looked like the last thing they wanted to do was play this game. Tch, this guy sucks. Trying to make kids be more active or something, that’s fruitless. Next he chose Alfred’s brother, the Golden Gay boy. All the girl’s wished him luck. Why does being gay make you likeable by the one gender you don’t like? If I said I was gay, could I get a date with a decent girl?

It was when he motioned to me with that bright, blinding smile that I felt my heart beat frantically in my chest (frantically, it wasn’t anything to do with his good looks or anything). I slunk down into my seat and pretended he didn’t choose me.

“Ah, how about you all help me get the stubborn Mr. Vargas off of his butt,” that stupid bastard teased.

Mostly the crowd of students just snickered, but someone started a fricking chant and I got off my ass and marched down there just to shut them up.

That stupid, jerk-bastard just grinned, “Aw, your face looks like a tomato.”

If anything, that made my face redden more and I quickly got the hell away from that bastard to stand next to the Golden Gay boy. 

“Do we have all the volunteers picked out?” The teacher looked around and smiled, “Alright, then let’s get this started. It’ll be four corner dodgeball. We’ll move out of the way, last team standing wins.”

This must have been some type of revenge, there’s no way in hell we stand a chance against Ruski and that Blonde Bastard. I spared a glance at my brother to find him cowering at the idea.

Tch, maybe if I got out fast I could watch my brother cower in fear.

“On your mark,” that Spanish bastard said and I shot him a glare.

“Get set,” he smirked, but his eyes didn’t leave the balls and I braced myself to at least attempt to get one of those damned dodgeballs.

“Go!”

I shot forward and grabbed two before retreating, barely avoiding the ball that whistled past my head and hit one of the girls on my team. Tch, figures, neither of those girls were going to try. Figuring I’d be the good team-mate, I handed a ball to Golden Gay boy. He smiled gratefully at me and we both readied for the onslaught. At least one similarity between Alfred and his brother was their uncanny strength.

The Russian Bastard was targeting the Freshman first and he was viciously throwing ball after ball after them. The ones that didn’t hit their target, made a loud  _ BOOM _ against the wall. My poor brother was huddling there frightened. I should feel sorry, but that was actually really funny. 

Even though that blonde bastard was guarding the Ruski I threw with all my might at the stupid Russian. It hit his arm.

He froze as Carriedo blew a whistle, signaling his out. His head turned slowly to me and as I jogged backwards to avoid an attack his unspoken death-threat chilled me to the bone. Damn, what was that bastard’s problem? I better not end up in his his black book.

  
Both of the girls were out on our team, only Feli was left on the Freshmen team, no-one was left on the Sophomore team and only that blonde bastard was left on the Senior team. I felt like I stood a pretty good chance. 

I felt a ball hit my back.

That backstabber, Feli had just betrayed his own kin and hit me. Little bitch. I sighed and walked off the court and sat along the side of the wall.

Feliciano hastily sprinted forward and grabbed a ball that had rolled into his corner, ducking a throw sent from the blonde bastard. He retreated to a safe distance and stood back, using that one ball as a shield. 

The blonde bastard turned his attention to the Golden Gay and as the Golden gay threw his ball, the blonde bastard nailed him in the gut. 

Damn, there goes the Juniors. 

It was now Feli versus that blonde bastard.

He was so gonna lose. This better be funny.

The Seniors and Freshmen started having a cheering war and that Spanish Bastard blew his whistle.

“No boundaries!”

The blonde bastard charged and Feli sprinted to the left and actually managed to get behind the blonde bastard. Before he could turn around, the ball slammed into his back.

The Freshmen whooped and hollered and I started laughing. Guess my brother isn’t as much of a pussy as I thought he was. I should have figured those runs and soccer had to do something for his agility.

That wasn’t so bad after all, and boy that Senior looked pissed.

The bell rang and I headed off to fifth hour. Because that damn Pep Rally takes two freaking hours. I caught that Spanish Bastard staring at me and I hurried out of there. There was no way I would survive him for the rest of the year.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Cont. _

__

_ I wasn’t upset by the Pep Rally that happened earlier today, to be honest, but I was mad at myself for making such a dumb mistake. I have to admit the Freshman surprised me a little. The dodgeball actually calmed me down a little, until Art that was. _

__

My sixth hour had passed without anything interesting, other than I unfortunately shared Physics with Ivan. He was interested enough in the subject to leave me alone. My last hour of the day, was Art.

__

Of course, the class was filled with Freshmen, some Sophomores, a few Juniors and me. It shouldn’t have been such a big surprise when I saw Feliciano Vargas seated at one of the tables talking animatedly with some girl near the front.

__

I sat near the back, and hoped desperately this teacher was not one for making us learn about our fellow classmates.

__

Of course, it was one of those teachers who wanted us to get into teams of four and do Pass-the-Drawing activity.

__

The worst thing about this, was I was bad at art.

__

I quickly hoped I could slide into a group without the Freshman, but as all of upperclassmen chose groups with their friends, I was forced once again to join a group with the annoying Freshman. As I sat down at his table, all of them looked at me and Feliciano frowned and then smiled.

__

“Ludwig, you aren’t still mad at me for the jacket incident earlier?”

__

_ Yes. _ I shook my head.

__

He beamed at me. The teacher passed around a blank piece of paper and we’re told we had one minute to draw a head of anything of our choice and then when we passed the paper the next person would draw the body and so on.

__

I knew nothing about drawing and drew a circle with a smiley face.

__

When the timer ended I passed the paper to Feliciano. He looked at it and then smiled. I watched his pencil fly across the paper and I gazed at the nicely drawn head on the paper and attempted to draw a semi-nice body. 

__

When I got my paper back with the instructions to write a short summary of the character that had been created I winced. The smiley face was wearing a hood and mysterious jacket that someone had extended into a cloak. They made my smiley face look like something cool. It was amazing and slightly frightening.

__

Across from me, I noticed Feliciano shaking his pen, attempting to get the ink to flow freely.

__

He had no success.

__

I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, “Do you need help?”

__

His eyes flitted to me and he smiled again, “Yeah, thanks!”

__

I looked at the pen for a moment and then saw the issue. The ink tube was stuck on the coil. Unscrewing the tip I went to fix the ink tube when it snapped in half under my not so delicate fingers. The ink dripped off of my fingers and onto my cargos.

__

“Um...I think I have another pen in my bag,” Feliciano said.

__

“Sorry,” I murmured and threw the pencil in the trash, grimacing at the splotch of ink on the thigh of cargos

__

“It’s alright,” he said and when the bell rung I left the classroom quickly.

__

It was pouring out and I wished my jacket was there to protect me from the rain. When Gilbert picked me up, he took one look at my cargos and missing jacket and started laughing his head off.

__

“Rough day, West?” He asked, chortling.

__

“You don’t know the worst of it,” I muttered getting in the passenger seat, “New nickname?”

__

“Yeah,” he didn’t explain it to me, but I figured I would learn why eventually when it struck GIlbert’s fancy to tell me. “I’m supposed to pick up Antonio, he works at your school, but looks like he has to stay after and give some kid a detention. I told him to get his own car, but he insists on riding on that dumb bike of his.”

__

“What does he do?” I asked as he pulled out.

__

“Student teaching Spanish for college credit and training,” he said, “So, want to tell your big bro why you look like shit.”

__

“Feliciano Vargas, a nuisance.”

__

“Freshman?”

__

“Yes.”

__

“I think our dad knew his grandpa a long time ago,” Gilbert murmured in thought, nibbling on his lip.

__

I raised an eyebrow, “Our father knew his grandfather?”

__

It was silent for a minute. Gilbert had left the house at fifteen (ten years ago) due to unknown reasons, but he had claimed it was, because he wasn’t a fan of our family, that he knew more about what our father did then I did. I didn’t let it worry too much. Family business didn’t have to affect how personal matters at home happened.

__

“Yeah, you knew how dad sometimes meddled in shady deals,” Gilbert said as they pulled up to stoplight.

__

“Unfortunately, yes,” I answered. One of the reasons he had passed away so soon.

__

“Well, Senior Vargas, was the biggest of his shadiest deals. Try mafia boss of Italy.”

__

That couldn’t be true. I remembered Feliciano’s bright smile and the overly talkative nature he had. Unless...that was a disguise?

__

“You’re pulling my leg,” I muttered, eying Gilbert, looking for signs that he was lying.

__

“No joke, so his two grandsons are at your school. He fled to America some time after our dad’s help couldn’t save him from one of his Mafiosos wanting more power. They revealed that they knew about his son and both of the grandsons, I think the one you mentioned was a toddler at the time. Maybe four at the oldest.”

__

It was hard to grasp. “Do you think they know?”

__

“Nope, of course not.”

__

“Their father wouldn’t warn them?” I asked, a little curious.

__

Gilbert went silent.

__

“Their father was killed a few years before ours was,” he murmured, “he was killed in a  _ car accident. _ ”

__

I could barely wrap my head around this. Glad I got the warning early, but Feliciano, really?

__

“You mean?”

__

“The kid you just called a nuisance is the grandson of a still living--keep that in mind--ex-Italian Godfather.”

__

“Mein Gott,” I muttered. I had already make Feliciano cry.

__

“Yeah, just don’t beat the kid’s ass up or anything,” and then smiling perversely, “Or anything else kinky like that, kesesesese~”

__

Rolling my eyes, I settled back in my seat till we reached what I guess was home. Feliciano Vargas, grandchild of a Godfather.

__

_ Dear Diary, _

__

_ No f-ing way. Okay, I wasn’t out that long. I woke up an hour after I passed out, but I didn’t get to leave the hospital till like when school is usually let out. I can’t believe it. I got a freaking concussion, but that isn’t the worst part. When I woke up in the hospital, D-I mean Arthur, was clutching my arm and sobbing like I was dying. Okay, maybe it’s not normal that concussion patients are out for that long, but still that was ultra-embarrassing. And then the Doctor gives me a list of what I can’t do. _

__

_ I cannot: _

__

_ \--Return to School for a Week (not really that big of a deal) _

_ \--Play an instrument/participate in any physical activity until all my symptoms are gone (WHAT THE F-ING HELL KIND OF A TORTURE IS THIS. BASED ON THE SEVERITY OF MY SYMPTOMS HE SAID THIS COULD TAKE MAYBE ONE-TWO MONTHS) _

_ \--Watch TV, Play on electronics, Have my Phone till most symptoms are gone. (THIS COULD TAKE A MONTH--WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?) _

_ \--Read anything challenging, do any amount of supreme brain work until the symptoms go down--and that means no homework (At least one part of this is good) _

_ \--Cannot attend Band Class till all of the symptoms are gone ($%$%#!@) _

_ \--For the first few days, do not get out of bed. _

__

_ Okay, so I’m breaking that last one. Apparently, I’m supposed to just lay around and sleep, but that’s so boring. I think I’m going to be one of those trouble patients the doctor described. _

__

_ Sincerely, Alfred F Jones--I’m going to sleep now _

_... _

_ Anti-Swearing Notebook _

_ I’m writing this in ******** detention. I’ve been here for two minutes so far and all that jerk does is stare at me. I swear, that creepy Spanish Bastard is planning to rape me. _

“What are you writing doing?”

_ Crap, he’s on to me! _

“Um...my English assignment,” I said quickly and made a motion to shut the notebook, but he stopped me.

“Is that electronic?”

“Um...maybe.”

He tsk-d and made a motion to take it away, “you aren’t allowed to have any electronics in the Spanish classroom, Lovino, you know this.”

Before I could stop him, he took the damn notebook and set it on his desk. I watched him for a few moments irritated, before pulling out my actual homework to do that shit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him open the notebook.

“Hey!” I shrieked.

He looked up at me with amusement.

“I’m just seeing if you were actually doing an English assignment in here,” he said, scanning the first page. My cheeks flushed and I almost was tempted to stand up in my chair and do something about it. Could I hit him? How much trouble would I  _ really _ get in.

“That’s private, okay, I admit it, I wasn’t doing an English assignment, now close that,” I pleaded him.

That bastard didn’t even look at me, he just kept reading through the few entries in their and he was laughing quietly to himself. The nerve of that jerk bastard. I could report him or something. I didn’t know what, but I was going to do something. 

“Lovino, really, I should give you another detention for this ‘that creepy Spanish Bastard is planning to rape me.’ That’s not school appropriate,” Carriedo murmured, smirking at me. I was already in detention, what else could I lose.

“Yeah, well you’re being all creepy, I think you’re eying my ass,” I remarked. His eyebrows raised.

“You do have a cursing problem,” he mused more to himself, “but why would you ever think that?”

I leaned the chair back, forcing it on two legs. 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because you’ve been spending all the time we’re in a room together staring at me, like some pervert.”

“You’re interesting,” Carriedo said and then shrugged, turning back to his work. He closed the notebook without another thought. “Did you even think that since I was a new teacher I might be more curious about my students than older teachers?”

That didn’t hurt at all, my heart didn’t sink to my stomach. Wait? Yes it just freaking did. Oh hell no, did I develop a crush on this bastard in one day? Hell freaking no. I was  _ not _ that desperate. 

I mindlessly completed the few problems of math homework, my eyes drifting up to the clock, watching, waiting. Wait, I was supposed to drive Feli home. Shit, hope that bastard figured out I had a detention. I still had fifteen minutes left. Oh wait, he’d had one too. I was clear. Still...It was a good excuse. 

“Hey, Mr Carriedo?” God, it felt so weird using his name.

“Yes?” He said, without looking up from his grading or whatever.

“I’m sorta supposed to give my brother a ride, so can I go now?” I asked.

“Mmmm...no.” And with that he turned back to his laptop.

“Jerk bastard,” I muttered and glanced towards the door. Feli, being the idiot he is, probably caught a ride with a stranger. His detention was only fifteen minutes. He could already be wandering around talking to strangers with candy.

After a moment of silence, Carriedo coughed, “Have you ever tried substituting your curse words with more appropriate words?”

“Not really, bastard,” Worst he can do is give me another detention, “I only substitute the f bomb.” I was egging him on. For what reason? I don’t know. I must really want to spend more time with him. God, there was something wrong with me. Why? Why god above did you make me want this bastard.

Carriedo hummed and turned on some Spanish music. I noticed he was writing another detention pass for me, guess I had provoked him. I wasn’t that bothered by it.

“Well,” he said rising from his seat, “Your next detention we can fix that,” he said cheerfully.

“I doubt it,” I glanced towards the clock, ten minutes left.

“Oh, by the way, next detention is an hour. If your brother can’t get a ride he’s welcome to hang out in here,” Carriedo said, flashing a smile before returning to his desk.

“Can’t do tomorrow, by the way, reschedule it,” I said, pocketing the detention slip.

“Reason?”

“My brother’s trying out for soccer,” I said, not that he stood a good chance of making it, “I plan on driving him there and staying around to watch.”

Laughing, Carriedo nodded, “Oh, that’s right, I almost forgot about those tryouts. Yes, we can reschedule your detention to Friday. I’m the assistant coach for Soccer this year.”

On second thought, staying around to watch my brother kick everyone’s asses (okay, he was actually good) wasn’t going to be fun. I groaned and buried my head in my arms. I had to hate this bastard, I just  _ had  _ to.

Five minutes left…The more I stared at the clock, the more it moved slower.

A clap of thunder outside and Carriedo looked out the window worriedly.

“Scared of thunderstorms?” I asked taunting him. Half hoping he was going to say yes. That'd give me something I could hold over his head.

He shook his head and smiled, “No, I should have listened to my roommate when he said it was going to rain today. I rode my bike here.”

I snickered, “Sucks to be you.” 

Carriedo leaned back in his chair, and I could tell that bastard was thinking up something.

Don’t...you...dare...as-

“I could pretend that those vile words don’t come out of your mouth for the next week and cancel that detention if you could, maybe, give me a ride…” He suggested, those bright green eyes meeting mine.

“I...I can’t give my teacher a ride to his house, that’s weird,” I muttered.

He waved his hand, dismissing my worries like it was nothing.

“Who’s going to care? My roommates aren’t that judgmental. There’s Gilbert whose only two years older than me and Francis who’s never home anyway. He’s finally found himself a boyfriend.”

Did he just say he lived with gay-roommates?

“Are you gay too or something?” I asked, not being able to stop myself.

“On second thought, I’ll walk my bike home and extend that detention,” Carriedo said sighing. He rest his head on his hand in thought, glancing back out the window as if considering the precautions for his bike and himself.

Hell no, I’m not staying after school more than an hour, Nonno would have my ass for that kind of irresponsibility. I couldn’t play that off as hanging out with friends and not noticing the time going by. 

“Fine, forget what I said, I’ll give you a ride home and you can drop that detention,” I hastily said. I wasn't desperate, it was just agreeable. 

He paused for a moment and then burst out laughing, “You should’ve seen your face. I wasn’t serious about extending your detention, that question wasn’t that offensive,” he wiped a few tears away from his eyes, “I just wanted you to agree to giving me a ride.”

I glared at him, anger rising up inside me. That Spanish Bastard had just tricked me! All the more reason for me to hate him. My red cheeks were because of that boiling anger flushing through my veins. Not at all, because I was embarrassed. 

“You said you’ll ignore all my cussing for a week?”

“Mhm,” he replied, sensing what was coming. He was smiling which only fueled the next words that came out of my mouth. 

“You fucking bastard, that’s against some staff conduct to use fucking extortion on your students you filthy Spanish bastard,” I said, letting the steam blow off. Oh god, it was almost heaven to be able to use the f-bomb. There was no way he or Feliciano was breaking that cussing habit.

“You done?” He asked, barely containing a laugh.

“Not even fucking close, I still have the whole car-ride back to bitch about you,” I snapped reveling in my freedom of words. 

…

I found Feli (thank the heavens) just talking some kid’s ear off in the concourse. The kid was apparently named Kiku and had agreed to be friends with my brother. That kid did not know what he was signing up to deal with.

Carriedo followed behind me with his messenger bag like a puppy and to my utter embarrassment the few (one) people (Kiku) in the concourse stared (was looking at his book) at us. If I come back tomorrow and hear people saying me and that bastard had some teacher-student relationship, I was going to murder him. (Okay, I was probably worrying for nothing, but for god's sake he was so...).

Feliciano was naturally curious as to why the Spanish student-teacher was getting a ride with us. I explained it in four words. Shut the fuck up.

He didn’t, like he ever did.

“Do you like teaching here?” He asked Carriedo and the man smiled brightly.

“Yes, all the students are really nice, except maybe your brother, he doesn’t seem to like me.” I don’t. Feliciano just giggled.

“Oh don’t worry,” Shut up now, “he’s like that with everyone.”

“Yup, now drop it, fratello,” I said hastily, for all I know he was gonna spill my life secrets. And I knew a lot about my brother and his babbling ways. Even worse, my brother knew me in and out. 

“If you get him to smile then that’s when you know you’ve gotten through his shell, actually, I think he’ll only smile for someone he-”

  
I slapped my hand over his mouth, “Shut up, he doesn’t want to know.” Cautiously, I spared a glance at the Spaniard to seem that amused smile resting on his face. Damn him.

As we got to my car, Carriedo let out a low whistle. I did drive a nice car, a glossy red Ferrari. Feli offered to ride in the back, which made me a little mad. I was all for shoving the bastard in the trunk, but it looks like he would be riding up front with me.

A smart person could see why I wasn’t thrilled.

“Alright bastard, give me your address so I can drop you off and return to my life.”

From the backseat, Feliciano shook his head, “Fratello, I thought we agreed no cursing,” he reprimanded.

“It’s a work in progress, Carriedo, address?” I had to remember to not cuss...at least not around Feliciano or his friends. 

He gave me his address and I turned the GPS on my phone to find it. A few wrong turns and I found the house. I was thinking when he said he lived with his roommates he would live in an apartment, apparently he actually lived in a house.

Outside on a porch, an albino (those exist in humans?) stood watching cars. He raised an eyebrow when I pulled into the driveway. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Carriedo said, “Oh, and one more thing…” He pulled from his messenger bag the electronic notebook. “You’ll be needing this quite a bit, I take it.” He flashed me a friendly smile and I felt my gut twist. 

Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that with Carriedo ruining my mood and thoughts. He set it on the seat as he got out and I watched him walk up to the porch of the house. I rolled down the window to listen for approaching cars as I backed out and I caught something that albino said that almost made me back out into traffic.

“Damn, Antonio, you better fuck the owner of that car and get us a mansion or something.”

Let’s just say I may have  _ unintentionally  _ broke the speed limit as I tore out of there as fast I could. 

…

The next day I kept my head down in Spanish class and refused to talk or acknowledge anyone unless I actually had to answer a question. I felt eyes shooting to me every five minutes and I knew without turning my head, that if I looked, two bright green eyes would be staring at me.

If I never saw him again, it would be too soon.

…

I’m only mentioning English class, because the freakiest thing happened. An office aide swung in and gave the teacher a note, apparently she had to give to each of his teachers, because there was a glitch in the emails, someone had planted a virus in a teacher’s email and it had spread to others.

Everyone asked what it said, I mean, we’re all curious teenagers; like we aren’t going to give up a juicy piece of gossip.

“I’m not so sure if I should share this with you,” the teacher had murmured.

“Please,” the class begged over-dramatically.

“Alright, one of your classmates Alfred Jones isn’t going to be at school for the next week or more, apparently someone shoved him or tripped him or something like that and he got a concussion,” she said, biting her lip.

Ah, so that’s why he wasn’t anywhere to be seen yesterday. That wasn’t the important thing, the important thing happens next.

That creepy Russian, whose name is apparently Ivan Braginski grabs his little black book and pulls out a worn piece of notebook folded in the back. From where I sit, with my amazing vision, I could make out it was a list of names and Alfred’s was at the very bottom. He made a tally, a fucking tally, next to Alfred’s name.

Some names had lots of freaking tallies next to them, some names were crossed out.

He had a hit-list, that creepy mothertrucker was planning to try and murder Alfred or something. It wasn’t like me and him were that good of friends, but still. That new creepy Russian dude was planning to murder us all probably after he got done with Alfred.

That’s when his eyes turned to me…

And he smiled and underneath Alfred’s name, he wrote mine.

That was it, that was the creepiest fucktard ever.

As we packed up, I noticed the notebook laying out and I saw my name had been erased from that sheet of paper (thank god), apparently the bastard was messing with me.

The day dragged on and I made a mental note that the next time I saw Alfred, I better warn him that new Russian guy is planning to murder him. Damn, I mean, I knew Alfred was annoying as hell, even worst then my brother at time, but kill him? That guy had issues.

When I met Feli after school to give him a ride to his try-out I saw Carriedo getting on his bike. He did know the soccer field was like a mile away. Maybe that’s not that much, but still, I was tempted to offer him a ride, but then I bashed my head against my palm.

God, why did I have a crush on this guy. I could deny it all I wanted, but the plain-ultra-vanilla-fact was that my heart sped up and I felt something for that bastard. 

And that’s exactly why I had to hate him, for making me feel anything at all. 

Feliciano was super excited about his try-outs and wouldn’t stop rambling on about it. I was grateful for the distraction and only hoped he didn’t…

“You’re acting different, is it something to do with driving Mr. Carriedo home yesterday?”

I may have slammed on the brakes at the stop light, sending Feli’s soccer ball nearly flying out the window. Luckily, he caught it. It had nothing to do with his question.

“Fratello?” And suddenly I saw it, that knowing look on his little bitch face and his eyes lit up and if I could I’d strangle the life out of him before he started.

“Fratello!”

“No.”

“I knew you just needed to try a different gender.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I still thought you’d prefer someone closer to your age, but I think it’s romantic nonetheless. Are you going to try and make him like you?”

“Shut up, or I’m kicking you into the busy traffic road.”

“Wait! I think he already likes you too. Veh~ It’s adorable, Lovi, you finally found love.”

Screeching past other cars, I pulled over at a fastfood place half a mile from the damn soccer field.

“Get out and walk, I told you to shut up and you didn’t.”

“B-but you said you’d watch me try out,” Feliciano whimpered, the waterworks already starting to play up.

“That was before you were a little bitch.”

“Fratello!” He began wailing.

“Out of the damn car.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Get. Out.”

“Mr. Carriedo will never like you if you’re so mean to everyone. He’s going to think you’re a big meanie too when I have to explain I’m late, because my brother kicked me out of his car for me teasing him about his crush,” Feliciano threatened. His eyes twisted up in amusement. I forgot we were of the same deceitful blood sometimes. What a dirty slut if he was thinking about pulling that shit with me. 

“One…” I started.

“It’s only the truth, fratello,” Feliciano said with a sigh, grabbing his soccer bag from the back seat.

“Two…” 

He stared at me long and hard, before giving me a hug. I tried to act stiff and uncaring as his arms latched around me. It was hard. My brother was a bright little bitch. “You’re still picking me up, right?”

“Two and a half…” I said, ignoring the grateful part of me, happy my brother cared enough to ask me about my feelings.

“I hope you pick me up after practice, I want to have some celebratory gelato!”

“Two and three-quarters…”

“Alright, alright…” Feli opened the car door and got out and flashed me one last grin. “I’ll tell Mr. Carriedo you like him.”

Dirty goddamn slut bitch. I gripped the steering wheel into my knuckles turned white. One of these options were impossible. 

“...Get back in the car.”

He knew he had won, and I drove him the rest of the way, arriving just on time. I parked the car and before he got out, I grabbed his wrist. I leaned close to him so that my lips were almost touching his ear. 

“Say one word about my  _ stirrings _ to Carriedo and I’ll rip your throat out,” I threatened him.

“Okay, okay,” he said cheerfully as I walked with him to the soccer fields.

Carriedo seemed to have arrived just after he did. He waved hello to the both of us. Feli greeted him enthusiastically enough for the both of us. While Feliciano, my brat of a brother, headed off to change into cleats and greet his new soccer pals I took a seat on the rusting set of iron bleachers near by. They creaked and moaned as I quickly scaled up to the top. Once settled, I turned my attention to the field.

But it was blocked by guess who?

Carriedo. That's trucking who. Okay, so his back was to me and he was paying attention to the soccer players and talking to a few parents, but goddamn. The problem with his back to me was he was also wearing workout sweats and they happened to hug a certain part of deliciously. 

His ass could be in a goddamn museum. 

I felt my cheeks redden as he cast a look back at me and smile. I whipped my phone out and pretended I was checking some stupid message (like I ever got any) and not checking him out. 

...

**Author's Note:**

> once more.
> 
> this work is bad on lot of accounts (writing and content ((shouldn't have to be said but pedo bad, homophobia bad))). i was 15 and very naive when i wrote this. i will likely orphan after i see if any comments come in. just. curious. to see if it would have done well. maybe if Hetalia comes back ill rewrite it with my better world view with more nuance. prolly not. 
> 
> on side note. HOLY FUCK DID I PREDICT DREAM FROM DREAMSMP AT 15???


End file.
